Scars Remain
by fallenjedipadawan
Summary: He not only bears the physical scar left by his father, but also the psychological.


**a/n: Just a short little one shot. This was inspired by my friend Matt, who showed me his scar today. It was totally insane, just this huge ugly puckered scar on his back (it's only like 6 months old so its really prominent still) and then the matching one on his chest along with scars from the surgery. (He was shot in the back). This is just what came from that. Not really sure who's p.o.v this is in, Eragon's I guess. Also for any of you who have read Kodthr un Malthinae I should have a chapter up within the next week. Reviews would be great. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own inheritance and never will. **

**Scars Remain**

It stood out against his smooth skin, dark and angry, a mountain rising above the plains. With his hand he reaches back and touches it gently as if confirming it was still there, before sliding his hand up and rubbing the back of his neck, the fringes of his dark hair brushing long, pale fingers. It is this gesture that reveals the nervousness trapped inside the figure, shows the tension that comes with the revelation, and reminds that scar doesn't belong there.

The images come unbidden, pictures that I had never witnessed but my mind manages to conjure. He's lying on the ground and each and every one of his choked breathes are heard rattling in and out of his chest. The blood, crimson and warm, soaks through his clothes and pools on the ground around him, flowing out of his body at an ungodly rate, his very life rushing away from him. His eyes are half shut as he fights the desire to follow the darkness that calls his name so welcomingly, occasionally the flicker open as unfocused pupils dart around. A woman kneels next to him her voice a constant murmur as she talks to him forcing the boy to answer her questions and in doing so anchor him to his life, but I can tell by the way it takes minutes for his mind to process the question and to respond that to him the voice is simply an aggravating whine in his ears that keeps him from seeking peace in oblivion. Behind him is a man his long hair greasy and unkempt and his dark eyes filled with rage, it is these eyes that if looked deeper enough into the man's pain is seen. This is the pain that weighs upon his shoulders, pain that slowly built up over time, pain that he had to take out on somebody, anybody, even a child, and that is why he strikes out without thinking. Another man holds him back tries to reason with him and prevents further damage.

Yet he passes it off as something that no longer controls his life. I wonder if he had not opened up and revealed this piece of history would I have ever noticed that he was different than other people. Yes, at times sudden sounds cause him to flinch. Now that I know to watch for oddities that trauma left behind I see him glance over his shoulder a little more frequently than normal, he can grow closed off instantaneously, and his eyes bear the trace of having grown before his time. But to me these are no different than normal; like him I jump upon hearing certain noises, when I walk into a building I check for ways of escape, one moment I can share my heart with you and the next nothing personal will escape my lips, and to many times I have people question what I have seen to cause my eyes to reflect all the pain and fear no teenager should carry. I have grown so accustomed to them that when another bearing the same traits comes my way, I glance at them a second time but do not dwell on it.

But for some inexplicable reason for him it almost seems right. The almost brooding personality seems to sprout from memories from his past he still carries on his back. Occasionally, on a few rare occasions, I see past this air of his and see his near child like wonder at being alive and seeing the world. It's when he thinks I'm not looking that I see it, the way his eyes light up in delight as some strange sight passes in front of them, how he pauses just several seconds longer to examine some exotic flower as if trying to comprehend all of its complexities, and how his occasional laughter seems to come from the very depths of his soul and consume him. Maybe the dark side is what people expect of him after such trauma and thus it is what he portrays.

He tugs his clothing back down, hiding the scar from sight as if it had never been there. He turns to me, a flood of emotions in his face as he looks me in the eye and then turns his dark eyes toward the ground. From the glance into his eyes I can read them with more ease then I ever have been able to before, he's daring me to offer the false pity he can not stand, asking me to understand that he in essence is not a bad person, begging me not to scorn him at the knowledge of his father, and waiting to be rejected as everyone that learns of his heritage does.

The scar his father forces him to carry is horrible, the scars his father placed in his mind unforgivable. He will never be able to forget what happens to him while bearing something like that. As the sword forever damaged his back, the hate forever damaged his being. And although I know I can not see the physical or the mental scars at the moment I know that no matter how often he proves himself to not only others but to his own self depreciating mind the scars remain and forever will.

**a/n: There you have it. Short and to the point. Please review. **


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